Run for the Horizon
by hamantrashen
Summary: Aaron and Moses knew each other long before the incident at the well - But their relationship was still far from brotherly. [Semi-AU set during the years before Moses leaves Egypt, with Aaron trying to look out for him by working at the palace, even though his brother still thinks he's a prince.]
1. Chapter 1

Miriam worried, he knew.

She worried when he was born, and worried again when together they were blessed with a baby brother. She worried _before_ the soldiers came for their youngest sibling, and she worried _after_ , when they watched him float away on the river.

She worried even when she knew he was in good hands. She worried through all their hardships, though she hid it well. Behind a clever tongue and a sharp mind.

Miriam worried for all their sakes; especially Moses'.

She shouldn't, he naively tried to tell her. _Mother is with him. Though she cannot raise him as our brother, she will always be there to watch over him!_

Until one day, when she wasn't.

* * *

News from the palace traveled slowly - at least, it did when reaching them. Why should they be told, anyway. It wasn't as if they were ever given any more knowledge than they needed. The business of the Pharaoh's second son was none of their concern, let alone the recent death of his wet nurse.

He couldn't remember where he had been when she had passed. Completing some assigned task, _probably_. At home, maybe - asleep beside his sister. Anywhere was possible, since he didn't rightly know _when_ she had died.

He remembered where he was when they'd told him, however. That was something unforgettable.

If memory served, it started with the sound of pottery breaking.

He hadn't heard it himself, too busy throwing down another strike of his hammer. The pale stone refused to crack, even under his hardest blow. With such blunt tools, he couldn't find time to be surprised.

The sound of running footsteps, weaving in and out of their tightly packed rows; that was what he remembered. Shouts of his name, a vaguely familiar voice pushing through the crowd. Forcing its way down the trench, past the swinging hammers and the sullen bodies that looked so terrible in the heat.

He turned in time for a man to grab his shoulder, heaving and doubled over in pain from his haste. Stiff fingers dug into his skin, a graying beard and wild eyes appearing as his visitor straightened up to look at him.

" _Aaron_ -!" The man gasped, moving to grip the taller boy frantically with both hands, "Aaron, you must go to your sister-! S-She-! She needs you, you _must_ go to her!"

As much as he wished to put it down, Aaron's grip did not leave his hammer. He opened his mouth not to _protest_ \- " _But the work-!_ " - to _question_ instead, but the older man was too quick for him.

"I will take your place." Calloused, yet _strong_ , hands took the tool from his grip, frantically shouldering him aside and on his way, "Your sister needs you now."

Stumbling on the dislodged earth, Aaron backed away, turning to look down through the trench. His body followed his gaze, scrambling over the cracked rock to head back to his home. His hesitation was clear, as he paused to look over his shoulder. Face fearful; an expression met by the urgent shout of his messenger.

" _Run_ , Aaron!"

And he did.

He ran through the stone quarry, past the weary diggers and reclining figures of the guards. He dodged hammers and ropes alike, ducking between each body and rock and _obstacle_ that threatened to stop him.

He ran across the dry dirt to the edge of the city, where the pale stone met jagged, _red_ cliff sides. He ran through the neat Egyptian houses until he crossed the boundary into his own people's dwellings. He passed slanted doorway after poorly repaired wall, sunken face after crumbling rooftop.

He ran all the way back to his family's home. The one he had been raised in, as his sister had before him. The one his mother and father were forced into - the dusty, one-room shack that had held their whole family once. Father, mother, sister, _brother_. The first name soon to fade, only to be replaced by a second brother.

 _For a short time_ , at least.

Aaron almost fell through the door of their hovel, close to knocking the splintering wood from its hinges. It hit the wall with a smack as he stumbled inside, bare feet skidding on the ground as he came to a sudden halt.

His chest heaved, rising and falling with a tremble he had not seen for many years. All his muscles threatened to fail him, to double him over or drop him to the floor in exhaustion - but he stood firm. Kept his back straight, his body upright as he surveyed the scene before him.

What he had been expecting, he could not say. _The worst his mind could provide him with_ , he supposed. Which was _what_ , exactly? What could be worse than _this_?

Maybe he could have found Miriam hurt, whether by a guard's whip or simple accident, it did not matter. Surely that would have been _worse_ , would have been the terror he expected. Instead of finding her like this - on her knees, shrouded by the shadows of their crumbling home.

"... _Miriam_?"

There was no blood, no wounds, upon his sister's body. None that could be seen through her dress, still in the same tattered condition it had always been. _No_ , she was not hurt on the outside.

But as she turned her face towards him, lip trembling and tear marks on her skin, it was clear that whatever Aaron had expected - _this_ must be worse. For whatever hurt his sister had escaped on the _outside_ , it had been done to her _tenfold_ _on the inside_.

They didn't need to talk about it, not even as Aaron dropped to his knees at his sister's side.

There wasn't anything to say. Miriam was strong; she only cried for the sake of her family. And her brother was not brainless, either. Words ceased to be needed after a simple exchange; Aaron whispered his mother's name in question, and his sister's tears only became more violent sobs, muffled by her face buried in his shoulder.

* * *

They huddled together in their house as the wind shook their door that night. It beat against the wood, demanding to be let in. They refused it, choosing to focus on rest instead.

Miriam fell asleep with her head on his chest, troubled and exhausted. Her brother was left awake, staring up at the ceiling. Listening to the wind howl and the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

This house had seen their family torn apart and sewn crudely back together as many times as there were stars in the sky. It had witnessed the loss of their youngest sibling, and their father's death soon after.

Now, it would be seeing _two_ _yahrzeits_ each year, rather than just _one_.

But even after they had both cried all the tears they could for their mother, Aaron didn't feel his eyes becoming any dryer. Because though he had rarely seen his mother at home, since she spent so much time away at the palace, her reason for being there still burned in the front of his mind.

If Yocheved was no longer there to serve as a wet nurse to the Pharaoh's family, then who would watch over _Moses_?

* * *

 **A/N:** So, this will include references to things written about the Exodus, but not included in the film (i.e. Moses' mother being his wet nurse etc.)

But at the same time, it's gonna veer off from that too. Kinda like an AU, except not really because, _man_ , have you seen how _vague_ some of the descriptions of Moses' early life are? This could be 100% Torah accurate for all I know!

 _Disclaimer anyway - No offense intended to any Jewish readers more devout than me._


	2. Chapter 2

He was barely into adulthood when their mother died. At nineteen years old, he still had never considered himself a grown man.

It took him a single day to realize that he was not a boy anymore. The change came upon him more brutally than he ever imagined he could handle, as he woke the morning after his mother's passing.

And, in the silence of the house, he realized he was _alone_.

Soft breathing punctuated the quiet from his side, Miriam still resting where she had curled up against the wall. It was not yet dawn.

 _He was not alone_ , logic reminded him. But he certainly _felt_ it.

There had been no time wasted in dumping a household of responsibility on Aaron - the bottom of the overpowering pile starting with the death of Amram, coming to a boil with the loss of Moses from their home, and finally completing itself with Yocheved's passing.

God apparently had _every_ intention of making Aaron the head of their household, from the very start - if not _earlier_.

It wasn't something he wanted, something he would gladly give to his sister without a moment's hesitation. She was _older_ , after all. _Stronger_ , perhaps. And most certainly more courageous.

But that was not be, it seemed. Had Miriam been his brother, it would have been a different story altogether.

Aaron couldn't help a snort of laughter at the thought. He couldn't imagine his sister as anything other than she was; all spitting rage and flying skirts. She had a confidence few people dared show here, one of which was _not_ her brother. He would gladly grovel on his knees and bury his rage afterwards, if it meant being able to feed themselves for another day.

 _No_ \- that wasn't quite right.

Finger scratching at his chin, Aaron wondered if, had he been _truly_ alone in their house, if he would be more like Miriam. Without his sister by his side, without anyone to think of _first_ or to _protect_. _Without someone who mattered more than he did._

Maybe _then_ , he thought, watching the first light of dawn break across the skewed blinds, he might not be so willing to kneel before Egypt's royalty. Because then the only life at stake would be his own, something he was free to risk and _gamble with_ as he pleased.

 _He could never gamble with Miriam's safety._

So, he chose to grovel, rather than stand up as his sister did. Take life as it came and deflect every blow that came their way. _Like a shield_ , he supposed, rising to his feet and stretching the stiffness from his back. His joints clicked painfully under the strain.

It wasn't a bad likeness though, he admitted as he bent over the clay basin on the floor. He swirled the warm, stale water under his fingers for a moment before splashing some over his face. Running the liquid across his quickly growing beard, Aaron took a moment to rub the tension from his temples.

If he was their shield, then his sister was _undoubtedly_ this household's _sword_. She was too _just_ and _fearless_ to be anything but.

As funny as he found the imagery to be, it brought a far more uncomfortable thought to Aaron's mind. One that drew the smile from his face, his motions becoming still in the quiet of the room.

If he was their shield, and Miriam was their sword, then what did that make _Moses_?

Aaron decided that was a thought best left untouched.

* * *

He turned twenty soon after that.

Miriam was so melancholy about it, a mix of joyful celebration and utter _misery_ that her younger brother was growing up so fast. _He'd been taller her since he'd turned ten_ , he helpfully reminded. Even with her watery eyes, she still managed to swat him perfectly across the ear. Her aim had always been excellent, even with Aaron's head all but out of her reach now.

There were perks of getting older, too. _Well, there was for Miriam._

Aaron had never seen her laugh so hard than the day he woke up with flowers braided into his beard. He'd mistaken them for locusts at first, letting out a shrill yelp as he tried to swat them away. Upon closer inspection - and with the commotion having woken his sister, who promptly started _hooting_ with laughter - he realized that they were merely Hibiscus leaves.

Miriam had taken _absolute_ _advantage_ of her brother having fully-grown facial hair.

He'd left home to work that day with the petals still clinging to his chin.

It had been a nice talking point, since those who pointed and laughed were always charmed by Aaron's brief look of shock, before he started laughing too, having forgotten all about the flowers for a moment. And maybe it brightened some of their people's days, too - as even the most sunken and lifeless eyes crinkled with smiles as the man with the _flowery beard_ passed by.

Miriam took the blame with _gusto_. She was so proud of herself, only made _prouder_ by her brother's constant muttered explanations of " _Miriam did it._ " and " _My sister thought it would be funny_."

* * *

Somehow though, even in such happy moments, it wasn't all laughter and smiles.

Because, though he pretended not to notice, Aaron still saw his sister looking out their small, square window that evening, an expression of sadness etched onto her features. He had seen the sight before, far too _frequently_ for his liking. It would follow a pause, maybe a sigh as Miriam came to a stop in whatever she worked on, her brow creasing as if she was fighting the urge to sneak a glance.

Yet she couldn't help it, and always turned to stare out the window. Across the slanted hovels and red jagged stones. Over the neatly stacked homes of pale stone, _and_ _upwards_ , climbing the rows upon rows of steps that lead to the palace gates.

Miriam worried about her youngest brother more deeply by the second, no longer safe in the knowledge that he was being watched over by their mother. Moses was _alone_ now, in her eyes - and _alone_ meant _unprotected_.

What the solution was, neither of the pair could say. Since, had Miriam even thought to volunteer in her mother's place, a sixteen year old prince did not need a wet nurse. In fact, he didn't need a maternal figure of any kind, besides the queen herself on occasion.

What he did need, apparently, was servants to wait on his every need.

At least, that was the presumption - what with Pharaoh's eldest son becoming busier and busier bearing his father's responsibilities, and Egypt's second prince growing older and more demanding of distraction.

 _Growing older_ , and about to celebrate his seventeenth birthday.

A celebration Aaron was _not_ looking forward to in the slightest, for more than just the usual reasons. Besides the great banquet, parties, and other pleasures that Egypt's slaves were going to be working _overtime_ to help achieve, of course.

No, Aaron loathed the yearly celebrations of _'The arrival of Pharaoh's second son'_ for another reason. One that he had a front row seat in experiencing annually, unable to escape it even if he had wanted to.

Because the celebration of Moses' appearance in the palace, a gift from the Gods, never failed to deal a blow to Miriam.

Though she worked almost _enthusiastically_ to ensure their part in the festivities was completed in its entirety - despite the fact that they were never to actually _enjoy_ the fruits of their work - Miriam couldn't fully hide the cracks in her smile. The sadness and _disappointment_ that seeped through her ever-hopeful expression.

Aaron loathed Moses' " _birthday_ " - because he loathed seeing his sister so unhappy, spending hours of the night staring across the streets towards the palace. A place still illuminated with music and laughter well into the hours of the morning.

He might have loathed it that year too, had the circumstances not been so different.

* * *

 **A/N:** Feel like I just finished a prologue - ah, well! Expect actual plot-worthy content in the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

At what point indiscriminate chance and simple good fortune became _God's work_ , Aaron was not sure.

He much preferred to quote the former, since the few things in their lives that _weren't_ governed by Egypt had very little pattern to them. Poor timing brought them bad things, and sheer _dumb_ _luck_ brought them good things.

Miriam disagreed. But then, her faith had always been very different to his.

Whether she considered the events of Moses' seventeenth birthday as anything but the most beautiful blessing and smallest of miracles, Aaron never thought to ask. He didn't think it significant enough - content in only the knowledge that it made his sister _happy_ \- and wouldn't even imagine questioning it until many years later.

* * *

Celebrations held in the palace meant that everything had to be _perfect_. Fresh food had to be made, a vast amount of cleaning to be done. Fine gifts to be embroidered, carved, molded or sewn.

And, _of course_ , restorations and repairs to be made. Which called for building to be completed.

Building needed materials. _Heavy_ materials - Vast amounts of water and stone that needed transporting to their proper place within the Pharaoh's home.

Aaron was unfortunately accustomed to carrying said materials to where they were needed within the quarries. But taking them up to the palace was another matter _entirely_.

Reaching the palace meant climbing _steps_.

 _Lots_ of steps.

He'd tried to count them when he was younger, when he had only been expected to carry bundles of straw. He'd reached a number somewhere past two hundred, before becoming distracted.

He never completed the count, even though he'd had quite a few opportunities to do so. It wasn't easy to focus on tallying your footfalls when you were carrying something _much heavier_ than straw on your back.

Jagged stone scraped his skin as Aaron hauled the sack over his shoulder, letting it drop callously to the floor. It joined a collection of similar bags, all filled with the same pieces of stone. As soon as he had dumped his cargo, his hands joined the many others in sifting through the sacks, tossing rock after rock onto the growing piles that surrounded them.

The towering heaps never seemed to change in size, never rising higher than Aaron's head as he continued to deposit armfuls of rock at their base. It probably had something to do with the column of people taking the freshly sorted materials upon their own backs, hoisting them into new sacks so they could be transported to their final destinations inside the palace.

It was an efficient system, it really was. One that was difficult to appreciate if you were an _unwilling_ part of, however.

Tedious as it was dividing the peddles from the boulders, Aaron was quietly grateful to have the weight off his back. The edges of his vision were filled with similar expressions of relief, even as the empty sacks were dragged up again, their owners beginning their climb back down the colossal staircase.

Aaron almost wanted to grumble as he took the last stone from his own sack, huffing as he turned it over in his hand, frowning irritably at the thing. _A huge anti-climax_ , if he said so himself. The hand-sized rock was his one-way ticket back down from the palace - to pick up _yet another_ load of stone and make _yet another_ trip up the never-ending flight of steps. Sometimes on the way up, he wondered if he'd actually make it to the top. He always did, but the fact that the thought occurred spoke _volumes_.

Wrapping the neck of the sack around his hand, he swung the empty bag over his shoulder. He moved to make his way back down the stairs, sparing just enough time to touch the arm of another worker briefly. A older man, supported by a walking stick, who's wrinkled hands shook with each stone he lifted. Aaron's free hand held on for the smallest of moments, the other slave smiling tiredly back at him before continuing to sort through his own pile of stones.

It was enough to keep Aaron's spirits up. As _up_ as they could be, at least, as he made his way through the pillars of the palace entrance, ready to rejoin the column retracing themselves back down the steps.

Fate had _other plans_.

"Brother, you are a _man_ now! And it's high time you started to enjoy the benefits of being one!"

Why Aaron stopped at such a foreign shout, one that couldn't _possibly_ concern him, he couldn't say. The fact that he not only stopped, but turned his head towards the noise, was an even _greater_ mystery.

"And, in celebration of your arrival, seventeen years to this day - I offer you your pick of the finest slaves in all the lands combined!"

Aaron's expression quickly turned from curiosity to one of cold disgust. The brief pause in the speech, broken by the surrounding people's cheers, was enough to survey the scene more closely, however.

Though far enough away not to notice him, Aaron could still make out the smiling features of the man atop his wooden podium, addressing the crowd. A group divided, it seemed, between delighted-looking nobles - who had apparently turned up for the event - and a mismatched group of slaves, huddled between the audience's rows.

They were an irregular bunch. A mix of skin tones and hair colors, of features from Midian to Nubia and back. Not one of them recognizable. _None_ _of them_ like the workers continuing to haul stones twice their weight up the palace steps. Aaron felt a bitter smile tug at his mouth. Apparently a Hebrew slave just wasn't _exotic_ enough for Egypt's second prince. He was regretfully _unsurprised_.

"You're too kind, Rameses!" A second voice spoke above the crowd, laughing as a second figure appeared on the podium, "But how can I make such a choice, you've given me far too many options!"

The man who spoke, his hand rising only to fall lovingly upon Rameses' back, had the sack slipping from Aaron's shoulder. It hit the floor with a dull hiss, dust escaping from within. Though his fingers still held tightly around its neck, the watching slave no longer paid it any attention.

His eyes were focused too heavily on the two princes, their smiles illuminated in the sun as they looped their arms around each other. Stood closely together, as _brothers_.

"I thought you'd say that." Rameses continued, ruffling the neatly cut hair atop his sibling's head, "I know you too well, little brother."

 _Little brother_. The words were spoken so softly, few felt their painfully sharp edge.

"So, to aid your judgement and to _entertain_ on such a magnificent day," With his arms spread wide, Rameses made a sweeping gesture as he stepped back from his brother, "I have devised a _test_!"

The Egyptian crowd let out a clamor of excitement, formed of gasps and _cheers_ and bouts of laughter. All of what they saw simply an _extravagant game_ , but with _people_ as the board's _pieces_. Inanimate and none of their concern.

 _Entertainment as its finest_ , Aaron thought - something he quickly squashed back into the depths of his mind with a shake of his head. Miriam always said staying out in the heat too long made him _bitter_. Despite him never, _ever_ voicing these things out loud - especially not within reach of his sister. _Somehow_ though, she knew anyway - As if even the _quietest_ of thoughts were readable to her from his eyes alone.

"The first slave to bring two buckets of water from the river to my brother will win a place in the palace - the rest will be set to work building their Pharaoh's legacy." As if that wasn't incentive enough, Rameses added with a laugh, "I don't think there is need for a reminder of which is the _better_."

The elder prince shrugged, glancing at the brother by his side, whose face was alight with _excitement_ and anticipation. Rameses chuckled, looking back down at the bewildered slaves below.

He gestured towards the pile of wooden pails, stacked haphazardly at the foot of the podium.

" _Well_?" He asked, "What are you waiting for?"

The top of the palace steps _erupted_.

Dust swept up in a cloud of storming feet as the group of men scrambled over each other to grab a pair of buckets for themselves, much to the watching Egyptians' delight and amusement. A commotion that continued as the slaves raced to descend the stairs, tripping over each other as they fought to reach the front of the column. Heads of all kinds turned to follow them as they ran, stumbling and sliding as some lost their footing, the largest of their number merely leaping over the tumbling bodies to carry on their strides.

The pair of princes overseeing the chase let out noises of childish excitement, pointing towards the distant river.

Aaron's gaze followed their gestures, squinting against the sunlight. The Nile shifted and shimmered where it curled across the horizon, glinting like polished metal. He almost felt sorry for the slaves who had began this test with such haste, knowing how truly far away that golden water was. And there was more than just the straight white roads of the Egyptian city to travel through; the runners would then have to navigate the jagged rocks and winding alleys of his own people's dwelling. Even the most muscular of men would fall down from exhaustion by the time he reached the river's edge, let alone make it all the way back - carrying two buckets of water, no less.

If said man didn't know the way, of course.

Or wasn't _used_ to running such a distance, having never done it before.

The idea that blossomed at the back of Aaron's mind, new and _small_ and not fully formed, was not one he actually entertained himself. It must have shown through in his eyes though, or maybe his staring at the glittering river gave more away than he would like - because someone else seemed to have caught on.

A tap on his shoulder, and Aaron jumped, turning in fear to the man who stood beside him. The same man whom he had shared a smile with earlier - a smile that still remained even now.

The stranger squeezed his arm, much like before.

And in his free hand, he offered Aaron his staff.

* * *

Miriam always said staying out in the heat too long made him _bitter_. Despite him never, _ever_ voicing his thoughts out loud - especially not within reach of his sister. _Somehow_ though, she knew anyway - As if even the _quietest_ of thoughts were readable to her from his eyes alone.

Maybe it wasn't just a skill of Miriam's, to be able to tell what her brother thought just by looking at him. Able to hear all the _tiniest_ of thoughts and ideas he would never dare put into words.

Maybe Aaron was just terrible at hiding them.

* * *

With a confused glance and a wise nod in response, it took only a moment for Aaron to follow the stranger's gaze, to look across the scene still beside him. The princes and their audience had spread apart, all of them fighting for the best view of their entertainment - but that was not what the old man wanted him to see.

 _No_ \- It was the something much _quieter_.

 _The pair of buckets that remained at the base of the podium._

* * *

Aaron was terrible at hiding his thoughts sometimes.

Especially when it came to ideas offering solutions to seemingly _unsolvable_ problems. Like stopping Miriam from staring out the window anymore, gazing up at the palace.

Ideas that offered to ease her worries, to give her back the comfort she found in knowing Yocheved was watching over Moses. Ideas that were reckless, _foolish_ , and reliant on more than _all_ their good fortune _combined_.

And also completely _irresistible_.

* * *

Fingers wrapped around the wooden branch, Aaron barely had time to thank the man - his mind too focused on his bare feet skidding on the smooth stone of the palace floor. He forced himself not to trip as he weaved his way through the distracted bodies spectating the race, knowing that one stumble now would cost him this one window of opportunity.

He reached the podium, both hands now tightly gripping the staff, as if his life depended on it. With a speed and precision he didn't know he possessed, he dipped the stick's end, hooking it under one, _then both_ , of the roped bucket's handles. In a single sweeping gesture, he raised the pair together, bringing the staff swiftly across his shoulders to hold it firmly with both hands.

The pails dangled carelessly from either end, swishing back and forth as Aaron straightened up, his eyes falling on the podium's occupants.

Well, _one of them_ at least. Rameses was too occupied with the race, laughing as he cheered the runners on, too busy watching to pay mind to the slave as his feet. His company, _however_ , was not so oblivious - his sharp gaze peering directly at the man below him.

Moses looked down at Aaron, though his expression - much to the elder's _surprise_ \- did not hold malice or distaste. Instead, it was simply _intrigued_.

The two of them shared the briefest of pauses - The prince frowning in curiosity, and Aaron staring back, breath held in alarm. Yet Moses did not move to question him, nor try and prevent what he was trying to do. The younger man merely smiled crookedly, and stayed quiet.

Aaron took that silence as permission, a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he was wasting time. And that was what mattered most in that moment - _time_.

 _'Run, Aaron!'_

The voice he heard in his ears, calling from a memory he couldn't quite place, set his legs into motion. One after the other, dodging through the crowd, feet pounding against the warm stone. Steps started disappearing under him, moving in a blur as Aaron started to sprint, staff braced against his shoulders and pails knocking against his arms as he ran.

Because when God sends you an _opportunity_ , you don't ask why it was sent.

* * *

 **A/N:** Lo-and-behold, this fic actually has a plot to it! Shocking, I know. Anyway, thank you for reading - if you've got this far, you're a trooper!


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